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Authors: India Edghill

Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba (38 page)

BOOK: Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba
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“And what is truth?”
“Why, that you need only yourself to fulfill all your desires. What could be plainer, what sign clearer to read?”
“Nearly anything,” Solomon said with bitter humor.
“Now, did I not know I held King Solomon the Wise in my arms, I would think I embraced a fool.” Smiling, she pushed him back and took his face between her scented hands; the perfume of cinnamon and roses coiled between them. “Tell me again what you asked of your god, my love.”
“Wisdom, and the ability to judge rightly.”
“A proper petition, from a new-made king; of course such words pleased your god greatly.”
“What else should I ask? Did I not already possess gold and gems beyond counting?”
“You might have begged for great glory, or the death of your enemies. You might have entreated Him for a great name.”
“To what end? Without the wisdom to govern well, to judge fairly, a king is no more than a fool—a fool who soon will forfeit whatever riches and glory he may possess.”
His cheeks burned beneath her touch, as if her fingers drew fire upon his skin. “You might have asked for happiness, Solomon.” She slid her fingers over the corners of his mouth, traced the curve of his lips. “You might have asked for love.”
He sighed, and caught her hands in his. “A man must win his own glory, Bilqis, and create his own happiness. And as for love—I fear even the Lord cannot grant that.”
She drew him back into her arms, and for a span of time they lay together in silence. Above them the stars blazed white fire; below the palace walls the sounds of night rose as whispers, ghost-song. At last she said, “And knowing all that you have told me, you still doubt your god’s favor?”
“What favor? For all the Lord’s promise, I have had to struggle to know good and to judge rightly, just as any man must.”
“And that is what your dream meant, Solomon. When you looked upon your own image, it was your god’s sign unto you—that you yourself already possessed that for which you had asked. You do not need to seek wisdom, for you possess that quality in abundance.”
“And that is how you interpret my dream?” Solomon stared up into the eternal night sky. “That is kind of you, queen of my heart.”
“It is not kindness, beloved, it is truth.” She touched her fingertip to his forehead, to the spot between his brows that hid the third eye, the orb that saw beyond this world into past and future. “You see clearly; too clearly, perhaps. Solomon, my dearest love, do you truly think fools and knaves beg to be granted wisdom? For if you do, you are a greater fool than they!”
At last he smiled, turned for a time from his ghosts to her. “The greatest
of kings is always the greatest of fools, Bilqis. And the greatest folly is to speak when it is better to be silent.”
And knowing what he desired, she opened herself to him, set herself against the dream-fear which haunted his nights and shadowed his days. Silent, she strove against that demon; silent, she offered him the only shield against those doubts.
Here is love, Solomon. Take what love can give. And trust in yourself as your god so manifestly trusts you
.
And when I am gone, remember me in this garden. Let my ghost walk here with Abishag’s. Let us both wait under the endless stars until you come to us at last.
Part of what followed began because I underestimated Rehoboam. Regarding him as dull-witted and stone-hearted, I did not realize how keenly jealousy bit him, how bitterly he craved what I possessed—our father’s love.
That he begrudged me my intimacy with the Sheban queen as well I did not know. I never once thought of the queen and my brother in the same moment. The queen filled my mind and my heart; I thought of Rehoboam only when I must.
I always knew Rehoboam lacked wisdom, but even I did not think him fool enough to steal my horse—fool enough to think he, who thought force ruled all, could ride Uri, whose pride was as great as Rehoboam’s, and whose heart was far greater.
Always I had obeyed my father’s admonition to treat slaves and servants with as much courtesy as if they were my equals; at first I had done so because my father wished it, and I wished to please him. As I grew in understanding, I saw other reasons for treating menials with kindness. First I saw that servants wished to please more, that I was better served. Only later, as I reached womanhood, did my eyes open wide enough to see that, in treating others with respect, I ensured that I respected myself as well.
I wish now that I had been wise enough to apply this advice to my relationship with my brother Rehoboam. It might have helped. But I was still only a girl, no matter how well I thought of myself and of my wisdom. And Rehoboam—well, even as a man, Rehoboam remained a fool. Ask any of those who ever served him.
 
 
Nimrah and I were playing toss-bones with my brothers Mesach, Eliakim, and Jonathan; I had just thrown sevens—luckiest of all tosses—when Keshet came running into my garden. This alone made us all look and stare, for Keshet was always prim as a pigeon and neat as a cat; when we wished to tease her, we would pull her hair out of place or tug her shawl awry and watch her tidy herself back to perfection within moments.
“Princess, you must come at once,” Keshet said, and I looked regretfully at my matched sevens. But I leapt to my feet, telling Jonathan he might play my throws for me, and went at once to Keshet.
“What is wrong?” I asked, and then all the blood seemed to drain from my body; I swayed. “My father? He is hurt?”
“No—oh, no.” Keshet caught my arm. “It’s Prince Rehoboam—Come with me.” She led me to my courtyard gate, where a slave girl I did not know waited. “This is Miri,” Keshet said. “Tell the princess what you told me.”
Miri ducked her head, and although she mumbled, plainly shy at being in the queens’ palace rather than the kitchens, she told her tale simply enough. “The boy Reuben who works in the stables told me to come tell you—tell the princess—that Prince Rehoboam’s in the stables and has ordered the princess’s horse made ready for him. Reuben says to tell you he’s stalling, making him wait, but he can’t do that forever, so you must come at once.”
I am glad to remember that I thanked Miri before I fled off to the stables; later I gave her a present large enough to buy her a good husband when her seven years’ servitude ended. I rewarded Reuben as well; his quick thinking saved us all from disaster. Had he been able to ride out upon my horse, I do not know whether Rehoboam would have ruined Uri’s mouth and spirit, or Uri would have thrown and killed Rehoboam. But in either case, I would have lost Uri forever.
I reached the stables just as Rehoboam lost what little patience he possessed and began striking Reuben with his whip. To his endless credit, Reuben stood firm, accepting the blows as the price of time. Still, he was glad to see me; the moment he set eyes upon me, Reuben grabbed Rehoboam’s whip, stopping my brother’s effort to beat him into submission.
“Here is the princess, Prince Rehoboam. Ask her yourself.”
Rehoboam spun around as if he suspected some trick; I summoned up
enough breath to speak without gasping. “Brother,” I said, “why are you beating Reuben? You know our father does not like—”
“I do not like rebellious servants! I am Crown Prince, and when I order a horse brought, it should be brought!” Rehoboam sounded as breathless as if he, not I, had just run half the length of the palace.
“Not,” I said, “when it is not your horse.” I see now that I should not have said that, should have pretended ignorance and granted Rehoboam a graceful escape. And that course would have kept him from knowing that the servants would do for me what they would not for him: a favor, with no thought of reward.
“I am Crown Prince—my wishes are commands. And you—you are—”
“Only a girl; I know. But girl or not, Uri is mine and mine alone, a gift from the Queen of Sheba, and I forbid you to lay your hands upon him.”
“Forbid?
You
forbid
me
?”
“Yes, I do. And I forbid you to beat the servants. And if you won’t obey me—because I am
only a girl
—then come with me to our father the king, and we will lay the matter before his judgment. And he will forbid you as I have just done and you know it, Rehoboam!”
We glared at each other, hot as fighting quail; Reuben later said that he thought we would snarl and leap at each other’s throats like feuding dogs. Rehoboam was older and larger than I, but I would neither shift my gaze nor retreat so much as one step. I knew our father would back me up, and so did Rehoboam. That was the festering heart of his grievances, after all.
Rehoboam lifted his hand as if to strike me, then glanced at his fist, seeming to realize that he no longer held his whip. He rounded upon Reuben. “Give me that!” Rehoboam snatched back his whip; having ceded ground, he fell back on bluster, and on threats. Reuben was to be flogged and thrown out of the king’s stables, Uri to be set to drawing a millstone—
“Like Samson? Go away, Rehoboam. Go away, and never come near my horse again or—”
“Or what? What can you possibly do? I am Crown Prince.”
I looked into his handsome cruel face and knew he was right; he was the next king, and it would be hard to do anything to him. And then I knew what a girl could do; a soft young voice seemed to whisper to me, telling me what to say, giving a sure weapon into my hand. Words fell cold as stones from my lips, in a voice I hardly knew for my own.
“I can lie, Brother. I can rend my gown and loosen my hair, and I can go before our father and tell him that you tore my clothing. That you tried to force me to your bed. He would not forgive you that, Rehoboam.”
He stood there bending the whip in his hands, glanced past me towards Uri’s stall.
“Never touch my horse again. Never whip a servant again for doing his job well. Never make me tell that lie, Brother. Never. Now go away.”
And to my relief, he did. Rehoboam stalked off, whip clenched so tightly in his hand that his knuckles paled to bone. When he was gone, the strength that had let me set myself against him flowed out of me like water; I staggered, and Reuben grasped my shoulders and pressed me against the wall.
“Don’t sit down, Princess, your gown will be ruined. Stay here and I’ll get water. Are you all right?”
I nodded. “Uri?” I asked, and Reuben smiled.
“Fine; the prince never got near him. Seth’s bathing him down by the stable well. I had to do something to stretch the time until you came. Now wait here.”
As he turned away, I caught his arm. “Rehoboam will not be pleased to be defeated—by a girl. If he tries to harm you, or Miri, you must send word to me at once.”
“No fear, Princess. Now let me get you that water. Can’t send you back to your handmaidens looking like half-cold death. That Lady Keshet’s got a tongue on her sharper than yours.”
Reuben went for water, and I leaned against the stable wall and closed my eyes, and thanked that soft sweet voice that had granted me the right words to stop Rehoboam. I tried to care where my brother had gone and who would pay for his anger now, but I found I could not.
For the moment, I was too weary to care—even about Rehoboam.
When her son burst unannounced into her rooms, Naamah took one look at his face, fury-darkened, and set aside the perfume vial and ivory stick. “Leave us,” she said to the three zealous handmaidens who had been aiding her as she painted her face and perfumed her body.
Paying as little attention to the handmaidens as if they had been graven images upon the wall, Rehoboam burst out, “I hate Baalit. I hate her. She
gets all, and I nothing. It’s not fair.” Rehoboam flung himself down upon the carpet, and for a moment Naamah thought he would wave his fists and kick his feet in the air as he had done when, as an infant, he had been denied a sweetmeat. The image made her smile; she bent and stroked his hair.
“What is not fair, my son? Tell your mother—” She wished to add
And she will mend whatever mars your life
. But long years of prudence kept the words from passing her lips. She must find out what troubled her boy before making rash promises to him. She had always taken care never to lie to Rehoboam; as a result, she retained his trust. Naamah would not risk that for a light word.
Rehoboam merely pressed his lips together and shook his head. Silent, he began picking at the threads of her Damascus carpet. So, he must be coaxed, but that was not difficult. Rehoboam’s moods were volatile as air.
“Am I to guess your trouble, then? Very well, I shall indulge you. One of your brothers has taunted you? Or—let me see, you have lost a wager? No? Well, then—”
Rehoboam looked up, his eyes sullen with dark anger. “Oh, Mother, you know nothing! What should I care for the words of my brothers, or for a wager either? I am Crown Prince! They are just jealous, for they will be nothing when I am king!”
“So they will,” she agreed, smiling. “You will be a great king, my darling boy.”
“Greater than my father,” Rehoboam said. “Greater than
his
father. Men will never forget
my
name!”
Naamah made a hasty vow to offer a perfect bull up to Milcom if her son’s wild boasting would be pardoned. “Hush, my son; it is ill luck to tempt the gods.”
“Oh, you will make it right with them.” Rehoboam spoke carelessly but with absolute confidence; his faith in her warmed Naamah’s heart.
“Whatever I can do for you, you know I will do it.” Smiling, she stroked his hair again, and Rehoboam leaned his cheek against her knee. “Now, tell me why you came. Tell me how I may help you, my dearest boy.”
Now that he had been cajoled into a better humor, Rehoboam was willing to spread his grievance before her. “Unless you can bewitch my sister, I do not know what you can do. Always my father takes her part. It is not fair; I am the next king, and she is only a girl!”
Ah, it was only Rehoboam’s constant complaint—a pity she dared not poison Baalit. But that course was too great a risk, and there was no real need to take it. “My son, Baalit is only a girl, as you say. Soon she will marry and travel to a far country, and you need never again be troubled with her.”
“No, she won’t. My father plans to wed her here. Here, in Jerusalem. She will be always in the palace, taking the place in my father’s heart that should be mine.”
“That is foolish, Rehoboam—it is your sore pride speaking.” Princesses were valuable only as playing-pieces in the games of kings. Princesses married for reasons of policy; even Solomon would not waste his only daughter on a nobody in his own court! Where was the advantage in that?
Rehoboam lifted his head from her knee and glared up at her. “Don’t call me foolish—you are only a woman!”
For a heartbeat Naamah’s blood chilled; she must not lose Rehoboam!
Nor must I let him see my fear
. She stiffened her back and regarded him coolly. “I am your mother, Rehoboam. Do not speak to me like that. Perhaps you should come back later, when you can control your temper.”
His face softened, and a hint of fear shadowed his eyes. “No. No, Mother, I am sorry. It is just—”
“That you are unhappy.” Naamah opened her arms, and Rehoboam flung himself into her embrace. She rocked him against her as if he were still a small boy instead of nearly grown.
Can what he says be true? Is Solomon planning to keep his daughter by him always? Then
—
Suddenly the answer to her son’s troubles shone before her, clear and bright. She smiled, and whispered in Rehoboam’s ear, “Do not worry, my son. Remember, your mother works always for your good. Now, will you promise to be an obedient son, and do exactly as your mother bids you?”
Rehoboam sat back and regarded her suspiciously. “What are you planning, Mother?”
“Something that will make you happy, my son. That is all you need to know.” She laid her hand on his cheek. “Now, promise you will do as I say, when I say it, and you will become your father’s favorite.”
“Truly? He will love me best?”
“Yes.” Naamah forced herself to speak with confidence; nothing less would serve her son’s needs.
“Better than he loves my sister?”
Warmed by the future she saw unfolding at her command, Naamah smiled. “He will love you at least as well, my son.” She bent and kissed his forehead. “Now go and amuse yourself into a better mood. You must be all smiles when next King Solomon lays eyes upon you.”
Unsatisfied but obedient, Rehoboam went away, slinking off like a sullen panther. But for once she was content to let him go in uncertainty. He had trusted her to solve all the problems of his youth. Now Rehoboam must learn to rely upon her in greater matters. Her own future hung in the balance.
For when Rehoboam was king, she would be queen mother. At last she would be the most important woman in a king’s life.
For a man might have as many wives as there were stars in the sky—but even a king could have only one mother.
BOOK: Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba
2.88Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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